


By Anointment Only

by La_Temperanza



Series: NSFW Victuuri Week Prompts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Body Worship, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Day 1: Exploration, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, M/M, NSFW Victuuri Week, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 22:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: He starts with the feet.It makes the most sense. After all, a figure skater’s greatest commodity is often their feet, taking the brunt of the damage required to hone their craft. He knows whatever tender loving care he gives now isn't enough to erase years of self-inflicted abuse, not in a single session. But it doesn't mean he's not going to at least try.So, Viktor starts with the feet. But the thing is, he rarely gets much further than that.(For NSFW Victuuri Week Day One: Exploration)





	By Anointment Only

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Limoncello_Bella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limoncello_Bella/gifts).



> I really wasn't going to have that pun of a title but oh well. 
> 
> Unbetaed, so please excuse any mistakes.

He starts with the feet. 

It makes the most sense. After all, a figure skater’s greatest commodity is often their feet, taking the brunt of the damage required to hone their craft. He knows whatever tender loving care he gives now isn't enough to erase years of self-inflicted abuse, not in a single session. But it doesn't mean he's not going to at least try. 

So, Viktor starts with the feet. But the thing is, he rarely gets much further than that. 

Like now, with Yuuri flopped belly first on top of his bed, still dressed in his practice clothes from the day. His sock-clad feet are hanging over the edge of the mattress and Viktor doesn't have to think twice before taking one of them into his hands. 

He doesn't know how it exactly started--probably because he's always been very tactile throughout Yuuri's training--but they've fallen into this ritual over the past weeks. By now, Viktor has the idiosyncrasies of Yuuri’s lower limbs committed to memory; his ankles (understandably) are usually the stiffest, he prefers deeper pressure rather than lighter when it comes to his arches, and the third toe on his right foot is the most ticklish thing in the world. Viktor doesn't quite understand _why_ it is but delights in this precious knowledge all the same. 

“Mmm…feels nice,” Yuuri says. His words are slurred by exhaustion; Viktor put him through a particularly difficult practice session earlier at the rink, and then a run along the beach, followed by an hour in Minako’s dance studio. Viktor would feel a tiniest twinge of guilt, except he loves when Yuuri is like this. Loves it when he's too tired to be embarrassed by the attention Viktor lavishes upon him. 

Viktor peels one sock off, and then the other, being mindful of the bruises blossoming on the pale skin. He avoids pressing on them directly, fingers skittering across, until he spots a rather nasty one over the top of the left foot. Gently he forces the knee to bend so the bruise is turned towards him and he ghosts his lips over it in apology. 

“Ugh, Viktor, don't,” Yuuri groans and drops his head into his pillow. “My feet have been sweating all day; they're gross.”

Viktor chuckles. He'd never think Yuuri's feet are anything but perfect, but he's not going to argue. He places the leg back down onto the bed, kneading at the calf muscles a little before giving them a pat. “How about I grab some hot towels then? Would that make you feel better?”

“Yeah, probably,” Yuuri says, followed by a muffled yawn. 

Giving Yuuri's calf one last squeeze, Viktor leaves the room in search of towels. The best part of currently residing in an onsen is having the supplies he needs at his disposal 24/7. He rolls up the towels he finds from storage and fills a wash basin with the healing, hot spring water Yuu-topia is known for. As an afterthought, he pours in some sesame massage oil, swirling it around so it disperses evenly on the surface. 

When Viktor returns, he finds Yuuri has flipped over on the bed, an arm thrown over his face to block out the overhead light. At first it looks like he's fallen asleep in Viktor's absence. But Viktor spots wide brown eyes watching him carefully through splayed fingers, and he grins. It thrills him to no end to know that Yuuri has come to anticipate these moments as much as he does. 

“Let me know if these are too hot,” Viktor says. They go through this every time, the act almost second nature by now, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. He dips two of the hand towels into the basin and waits as the terry cloth swells double in size. Once he decides they’ve been in there long enough, he wrings them out so they’re damp but not soaking, gives them a good shake, and then wraps one around each foot. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says so softly that Viktor has to strain to hear him. “It’s good.”

Viktor hums while he works. He first rotates Yuuri’s feet clockwise, and then counter-clockwise, rewarded by the usual sounds of the joints, tendons, and muscles clicking and popping back into proper place. It seems painful; he’s always afraid that it hurts and Yuuri just never says otherwise. But Yuuri has insisted he feels a comfortable release of pressure afterwards, like cracking one’s knuckles. So Viktor has to remain satisfied at that.

He twists the soles side to side next, making sure to give them a good stretch. Both figure skaters and ballet dancers are known for their high arches and insteps, and Yuuri is no exception. It might help lend his feet a graceful appearance when he dances but will owe him no favors in the long run when it comes to future aches and pains. 

The towels have already begun to cool in the evening air of the room, so Viktor starts to unwrap and tug them off. He stops when he reaches the toes, wanting to slow down and take his time. He rotates those too, first as a group and then individually, squeezing at intervals until his fingers slide off the tips. The corner of the towel dips in between them, wiping away any remaining lint and grime still hiding in the crevices before Viktor drops the towels completely.

“Better?” He asks, looking up from his handiwork to gauge Yuuri’s reaction.

“Better,” Yuuri sighs. He sounds blissed-out, relaxed, happy.

That’s the confirmation Viktor needs to continue. He surges forward to press his lips to Yuuri’s toes, retracing the path that his fingers have just traveled. He pours out his fondness to every bruise, every blister, and every callus once, twice, sometimes three times for good measure. He leaves a trail of kisses down the valley of the medial arch only to climb back up with his tongue. He sucks at the clammy skin, holding himself back from adding marks that are uniquely his. But the urge is there, buzzing beneath the lids of his eyes as he closes them, reveling in this holy act he’s been allowed to participate in. 

“Wow…” Yuuri’s voice drifting above him is full of breathless wonder. “You, uh, must really like my feet, huh?”

Viktor laughs, the vibration transferring through his teeth as he playfully bites at the ball of Yuuri’s foot. “These are the feet that create music through their movements.” He punctuates his point by kissing after every other word. “These are the feet that are going to tower over podiums. These are the feet that are going to win scores of gold. I _adore_ these feet.” _I adore you._

A beat, and then--

“Show me how much?”

Viktor stills. Maybe he’s misheard; maybe he’s misunderstood. But when he tears his gaze from Yuuri’s feet to his face, Viktor can see how Yuuri is pointedly not looking at him as a faint blush radiates across his cheeks.

“Can I?” Viktor asks. It’s the longest, most agonizing second in his life before Yuuri nods, blush deepening. 

Viktor releases the grip of one of his hands from Yuuri’s feet in favor of palming his own cock through his pants. He’s already half-hard from his ministrations, having planned to relieve himself as soon as he could go somewhere more private. He never wants to pressure Yuuri into something that neither of them are ready for, but Viktor can’t deny that he’s wanted this for so long. 

“Put your feet together for me,” he says, pressing Yuuri’s feet so they’re tightly lined up against one another, the only space left open created by the curve of his instep. “Just like that. Think you can hold that position for me, _lyubov moya_?”

“Yes.” Yuuri is finally, _finally_ looking directly at Viktor, propped up on his elbows with rapt attention. Viktor searches for any sign of uncertainty in his eyes but all he sees is determination. Viktor smiles to himself when he realizes why; his Yuuri is never one to turn down a challenge, is he?

“Good, good…” Viktor unfastens his pants, pushing them down enough so he can free himself from the confines of his underwear. He idly strokes his cock to full-mast as he continues to murmur, “So good for me; so perfect.”

He knows Yuuri thrives on praise just as much Viktor thrives on giving it. He can see it in the way Yuuri’s eyelashes flutter, in the way he beams shyly, in the way he unfurls himself so he doesn't look so small and closed-off. One of these days Viktor is determined to make Yuuri come undone with a barrage of compliments alone, repeating the process afterwards with the addition of slickened hands and mouth. 

Speaking of slick, Viktor scoops up a pocket of oil floating on the water into his hand and coats himself liberally with it. He knows there’s still some left glistening on Yuuri’s skin after the massage, but he wants to be properly lubricated. Last thing either one of them needs is uncomfortable chafing.

He lines himself up with Yuuri’s feet, the tip of his cock barely brushing against the soles. Viktor can’t suppress the shiver that runs down his spine. It’s hard to believe that they’re really doing this. “Are you ready?”

Yuuri responds by suddenly angling his feet down so that Viktor’s dick pops through the space between the arches.

Viktor nearly chokes on his tongue. They really need to have a talk about Yuuri’s tendency to rush headlong into things. “Y-Yuuri, wai--”

“ _Viktor_.” Yuuri is giving him _that_ expression. The one usually reserved for his Eros performances and is the subject of many of Viktor’s wet dreams. “You said you were going to show me how much you like my feet. _So do it already_.”

There’s no way that Viktor can take this slow like he originally wanted, not when Yuuri is saying things like that. Viktor draws his hips back and then snaps them forward again, earning a moan from both of them.

He loves it when he gets to top Yuuri the night after competitions, loves it even more when Yuuri tops him. Loves their combined taste mingling on his tongue when they sloppily kiss after going down on each other. Even loves it when all they can manage is a quick mutual handjob in the locker room showers in the fear of getting caught doing anything else.

But this is on a whole different level. He doesn’t love it any more or any less than from when the two of them are intimate, it’s just that nothing can compare to it. There’s no benchmark similar to the sensation of sliding through Yuuri’s clasped feet, warm and pliant from massage. There’s no label that fully encompasses the emotions he’s experiencing beside absolute affection, admiration, and adoration. There’s no word strong enough to define the feeling he has knowing that Yuuri trusts Viktor enough to allow him to do this.

“You want me to show you how much I adore these feet?” he asks as he begins to increase the speed of his thrusts. He shakes the bangs out of his eyes, spraying droplets of perspiration everywhere. “About how I could never get enough of them if I tried? Whether you’re like this, or dancing, or even skating; I would crawl on my hands and knees on the ice just for a chance to kiss your blades.”

Yuuri exhales a shaky puff of air, his Eros-based confidence from before slipping. “You wouldn’t, that’s too much--”

“It’s not enough,” Viktor corrects. He glides his hands up the bridges of Yuuri’s feet, circling the ankles and gripping them firmly. The sight of his red, swollen cock, gleaming with oil and pre-come as it pistons between the gap, causes his fingers to clench against the Achilles’ heels. “There’s not enough I could do to show you how much you mean to me.”

He purposefully leaves ‘and your feet’ out of his declaration. It should be well-established by now how he feels about them. But they’re part of a package deal, only a single aspect of the man Viktor has come to love so much.

Still, he has to admit that they definitely stir up things inside him that he’s never expected. Maybe it’s the way the toes twitch, curl, and wriggle against the vee of his lower stomach, or how his balls smack against heels with every thrust for a delirious concoction of pleasure borderlining on pain.

Whatever it is, Viktor is helpless to it. The once careful rhythm of his movements has dissolved into a frenzied staccato. His love may be vast and never-ending, but his level of stamina is a whole different story. Though even as his core begins to tighten in preparation for release he still struggles to hang on, wanting to relish everything about this moment for as long as he can.

It’s Yuuri who ends up being the catalyst. Yuuri, who has somehow rolled down his hem of his sweatpants and pushed up the bottom edge of his shirt without Viktor realizing. Yuuri, who has teeth sinking down into his bottom lip as he strokes his own cock to the timing of Viktor’s movements. Yuuri, whose pupils are so large his eyes look almost black and glassy, reflecting every single emotion Viktor is experiencing right back at him.

It all comes crashing to a crescendo. Viktor gives one more final thrust so powerful that he nearly bends Yuuri's feet in half. And then he's coming, his cock pulsing thick, milky-white spurts that drench everything and drip down to the ground below. His body shudders throughout his climax before he lets his head fall limply forward, his chin knocking against his chest.

There’s nothing he wants more to ride out the aftershocks racing through his veins, but Yuuri flexing against him reminds Viktor there are still pressing matters to attend. He crawls up the bed and presses the length of his body against Yuuri’s side, all while his hand seeks to finish what Yuuri’s has already started. 

It doesn’t take long. Yuuri has always been reserved in bed, no doubt from years of living within the paper-thin walls of his family’s ryokan. The only sign of his release is how his lithe form suddenly goes tense and then boneless a few seconds later as a wash of liquid warmth seeps through Viktor’s fingers, Viktor’s name huffed into the hollow of his throat.

They lay like that, their cooling bodies sprawled on top of one another, neither one of them moving right away. It feels like hours pass when in reality it’s only minutes, the single sound of their combined breathing filling the otherwise quiet room. 

It's Yuuri who’s the first to speak. “Great,” he says, his nose scrunching, “my feet are really gross now.”

Like before, Viktor doesn't argue otherwise, no matter how proud he is of his handiwork. Instead he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead before shimmying himself back down the bed. His body protests at moving so soon afterwards, but if Yuuri needs to be clean to be comfortable, Viktor is more than happy to oblige. 

The water is definitely cold by now, so he holds a towel in his hands to warm it up a little before he wipes down the tacky mess he's left behind. He does it briskly, afraid if he dwells too long he'll get excited again and then he'll back to where he started. 

After he's wiped down his hands (as well as the bit of come on Yuuri's belly that he failed to catch earlier), Viktor flops back down on the bed, instinctively taking Yuuri into his arms. “Feel better now?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri nods into Viktor's shoulder, the movement slowed by sleep catching up to him. “...I would thank you, but you were probably planning this the entire time, weren't you?”

“Yuuuuuri,” Viktor whines, complete with a mock pout, even as he nuzzles at the top of Yuuri's head. “So mean to me, after all that…”

Neither of them point out that the question remains unanswered.


End file.
